I’m shocked enough that I pull the phone away from my ear for a second to stare at it. I’ve never heard Mohammad talk like this.
“Wow. Um, wow. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I don’t say shit like that to everyone, so consider yourself lucky.”
I can’t help noticing how similar his little speech is to some of the things Jacob said when he offered to make me co-owner at Schenkman Studios: that I have talent, a gift the world needs and deserves. In the end, that’s what everything has always been about; my life has always been shaped by my music.
Even my life with the girl sleeping in the next room of this apartment is so wrapped up in music I can’t separate the two.
“Now,” Mohammad continues, “can I tell Nautilus we’ll be on that plane?”
I hesitate. I could tell him I’m not sure. I could tell him about the offer from Jacob, but that would make it real, and I don’t know if I’m ready for it to be real yet.
“I...Yes. I mean, wait. When does it leave?”
He gives me a date a few weeks from now, two days after my sister’s wedding.
“Yeah, that will work.” I take a deep breath. “Okay. Yes. I’ll do it.”
He starts to say goodbye, but I interrupt.
“Wait! For the deal, they don’t want me to, like, move there do they?”
“Hmm.” I can picture him sliding his rings around as he contemplates. “They’d probably want you there for a while. We should think about getting you down there ourselves anyway, or at least to New York. You’re going to be bigger than this country can take soon!”
I don’t join in with his exhilarated laugh. We hang up soon after that, and for what feels like the thousandth time in the past week, I’m left asking myself what the hell just happened.
